


Standing Still

by Dingoes8MyName



Category: Outsiders (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 17:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16958601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dingoes8MyName/pseuds/Dingoes8MyName
Summary: This is a one-shot focused on Asa Farrell. I may do more of these. Not sure yet. I originally posted this on my Tumblr, but I've put it through an edit to post here. Just a quick scene. Not much to explain about it.





	Standing Still

The woman was tall. Dark brown hair half up in a ponytail. Wore a red t-shirt over blue jeans and high-heel boots. Car keys jingled in her hand and she had a leather handbag over her right shoulder. Her car was an old red Celica, rust along the doors. She crossed the parking lot with quick steps.

The general store wasn’t much. One of those Mom and Pop deals. Sold basic grocery staples like bread and pasta, household cleaners, hardware and tools, other odds and ends. Kindly old couple owned the place. Nice enough. Didn’t ask questions.

We sold potted plants and things like that, depending on the season. At the time, it was verbena, ironweed, pansies, calla lilies, and zinnias. I was moving them around, filling the gaps where people took their pick from the bunch and left an ugly hole.

The earthy smell made me think of her hair. Always smelled like soil and flowers.

I heard her walk over. When I looked at her she was looking over some yellow zinnias. She had bangs that fell into bright blue eyes. It was striking because of her dark hair and pale skin.

I said “Can I help you with anything?”

She smiled and said “I can’t grow anything. I just like looking.”

I smiled back, polite, and said “Alright. Well, let me know if you need anything.”

I was turning around to head inside when she came up behind me.

“Actually, I need some paint,” she said.

I looked over my shoulder at her.

“Paint?”

Like I’d never heard of paint before.

“Or wood stain,” she said. “I’m not really sure.”

I pulled open the store’s front door and held it for her. There’s a bell above the door that jingles whenever someone comes or goes. It’s one of those places with character. Used to be an old house. The hardwood floors creak, the ceiling’s bowed in places. Everything smells like an old attic shut up too long.

The bell announced the door closing as I hung a right behind the counter. Actually, it was an old wooden desk I could picture in some professor’s office. There was a computer set up, an old one from the late nineties with a screen that blinded you if you looked at it too long. Pretty sure the only reason they hired me was because I knew how to use the thing.

I said “Okay. What are you lookin’ to do with… whichever one of those you’re lookin’ for?”

I leaned my palms on my side of the counter. I felt sweaty and hot from being outside in the summer heat. She set her bag down on the counter and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

“I have this old chest I found,” she said. “Really gorgeous, well put together. But it’s all faded and needs a little makeover. I figured I’d sand it down and do… something.” She chuckled a little and shrugged her shoulders. “No idea what, but I know sanding will be involved.”

I smiled at that.

“That’s a good start.”

I stepped out from behind the desk and nodded for her to follow me.

“Sanding’s no big deal,” I told her. “Can’t really screw it up.”

I heard her boots clicking on the floor behind me.

“Well, that’s good,” she said.

We went over to one of the aisles - tall with lots of shelves and cubbies. I waved at all the sandpaper options.

I said “You got coarse and fine and a bunch of medium in between. You’re gonna wanna stay away from the coarse stuff. It’s a little much for furniture.”

I pulled a medium grit sample off the shelf to show her and she leaned over to look.

“This is your basic middle-of-the-road grit,” I told her. “That’ll get the bulk of your old paint or staining off the wood without doing damage.”

She ran her thumb over the grains and studied it, paying close attention.

“You ever sand anything before?” I asked.

She smiled up at me and said “I tried to use one of those powered handheld sanders once. Ended up sanding the skin off three fingertips.”

She held up her hand like she was showing me some kind of proof. I didn’t see any scarring or anything, but I winced a little all the same.

“Looks like you came out of it okay,” I said.

She let her hand drop to her side.

“Yeah,” she said. “I was thirteen, so, plenty of time to heal.”

“You should probably stay away from power sanders, then,” I told her. “How big’s the chest?”

“Oh, it’s kind of… medium,” she said. “Maybe three feet wide, four feet tall. I think about two feet deep? I’m not exactly sure.”

I rubbed my jaw, trying to picture this thing in my head.

“Might be a big job to do by hand,” I said. “You got a lot of time for this?”

She said “Oh, yeah. It’s kind of a much-needed project to keep me busy.”

I wanted to know why she needed to keep busy, but I didn’t ask. Questions invite questions.

“Well, this’ll do it,” I said. “I can show you some techniques if you want. They got tutorials all over the Internet, so you should be fine. Once you get the old stuff off, you’ll want to use a fine grain like this one to smooth everything out.”

I pulled a sample of fine grit paper off the shelf to show her. She ran her fingers over it like she did before. I got this prickly feeling on the back of my neck and I tried to ignore it.

“You said you didn’t know if you wanted to paint the thing or stain it yet?” I asked.

She hefted her purse onto her shoulder.

“Yeah, I figured I’d sand it down, look at it sort of fresh. Right now I want to stain it, but I can’t tell if that’s just because it was already stained.”

I nodded, but that feeling nagged at me, made my back muscles tighten up.

I was being watched.

“You putting it anywhere in particular?” I asked.

I didn’t really need to know that, but I didn’t want to leave the aisle. Didn’t want to turn around. If I kept talking to her, kept my mind on something else…

She said something, but I didn’t hear it. I heard my own heart in my ears. I was boiling inside my skin.

“Does that matter?” she asked.

I stared at her. What the hell did she say before that?

“Does what matter?” I asked.

She frowned and said “If the floor’s hardwood. Should I stain it the same color so they match?”

I swallowed and had a hard time with it. My throat felt like it was closing in on itself.

“You could,” I said.

I raked a hand through my hair and felt sweat along my scalp.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked.

I looked at her and saw her staring at me, brows knit. I took a deep breath, counted in my head, and exhaled.

“Let me put somethin’ together for you,” I said. “I’ll get you some sandpaper, some stain and paint samples.”

I brushed by her before she could say anything else, before I could get more anxious in front of her.

I needed to get out of that tight space, that sickly-sweet space that was starting to feel like an oven. I shoved open the front door, nearly tripped over my own feet when the bell chimed. I stumbled out into the heat of the day and doubled over with my hands on my knees. I was just trying to breathe.

I felt them before I saw them. Like feeling a weight coming down on you from nowhere and everywhere at once. I remember thinking ‘No.’ Just that word over and over. I didn’t want to look, but they were there. Not looking wouldn’t change that.

So, I looked. Straight ahead, there they were. Three wolves with those bright eyes, staring me down. I felt my cheeks get wet with tears, but I don’t remember crying. I remember not breathing for a good few seconds as we stared at each other, me and the Three.

One of them bared its teeth.


End file.
